Part 11 (1/2)

”I should consider it to be more than likely, sir,” said Britton, with a perfectly straight face. He must have been sorely tried in the face of my inane maunderings. ”Pardon me, sir, but wouldn't it be a tip-top idea to have it out with the Schmicks to-night? Being, sir, as you antic.i.p.ate a rather wakeful night, I only make so bold as to suggest it in the hopes you may 'ave some light on the subject before you close your eyes. In other words, sir, so as you won't be altogether in the dark when morning comes. See wot I mean?”

”Excellent idea, Britton. We'll have them up in my study.”

He went off to summon my double-faced servitors, while I wended my way to the study. There I found. Mr. p.o.o.pend.y.k.e, sound asleep in a great arm-chair, both his mouth and his nose open and my first novel also open in his lap.

Conrad and Gretel appeared with Britton after an unconscionable lapse of time, partially dressed and grumbling.

”Where are your sons?” I demanded, at once suspicious.

Conrad shook his spa.r.s.ely covered head and mumbled something about each being his brother's keeper, all of which was Greek to me until Britton explained that they were not to be found in their customary quarters,--that is to say, in bed. Of course it was quite clear to me that my excellent giants were off somewhere, serving the interests of the bothersome lady in the east wing.

”Conrad,” said I, fixing the ancient with a stern, compelling gaze, ”this has gone quite far enough.”

”Yes, mein herr?”

”Do you serve me, or do you serve the lady in the east wing?”

”I do,” said he, with a great deal more wit than I thought he possessed.

For a moment I was speechless, but not for the reason you may suspect.

I was trying to fix my question and his response quite clearly in my memory so that I might employ them later in the course of a conversation between characters in my forthcoming novel.

”I have been talking with the lady this evening,” said I.

”Yes, mein herr; I know,” said he.

”Oh, you do, eh? Well, will you be good enough to tell me what the devil is the meaning of all this two-faced, underhanded conduct on your part?”

He lowered his head, closed his thin lips and fumbled with the hem of his smock in a significantly sullen manner. It was evident that he meant to defy me. His sharp little eyes sent a warning look at Gretel, who instantly ceased her mutterings and gave over asking G.o.d to bear witness to something or other. She was always dragging in the Deity.

”Now, see here, Conrad, I want the truth from you. Who is this woman, and why are you so infernally set upon s.h.i.+elding her? What crime has she committed? Tell me at once, or, by the Lord Harry, out you go to-morrow,--all of you.”

”I am a very old man,” he whined, twisting his gnarled fingers, a suggestion of tears in his voice. ”My wife is old, mein herr. You would not be cruel. We have been here for sixty years. The old baron--”

”Enough!” I cried resolutely. ”Out with it, man. I mean all that I say.”

He was still for a long time, looking first at the floor and then at me; furtive, appealing, uncertain little glances from which he hoped to derive comfort by catching me with a twinkle in my eye. I have a stupid, weak way of letting a twinkle appear there even when I am trying to be harsh and domineering. Britton has noticed it frequently, I am sure, and I think he rather depends upon it. But now I realised, if never before, that to betray the slightest sign of gentleness would be to forever forfeit my standing as master in my own house. Conrad saw no twinkle. He began to weaken.

”To-morrow, mein herr, to-morrow,” he mumbled, in a final plea. I shook my head. ”She will explain everything to-morrow,” he went on eagerly.

”I am sworn to reveal nothing, mein herr. My wife, too, and my sons.

We may not speak until she gives the word. Alas! we shall be turned out to die in our--”

”We have been faithful servants to the Rothhoefens for sixty years,”

sobbed his wife.

”And still are, I suspect,” I cried angrily.

”Ach, mein herr, mein herr!” protested Conrad, greatly perturbed.

”Where are the keys, you old rascal?” I demanded so sternly that even p.o.o.pend.y.k.e was startled.

Conrad almost resorted to the expediency of grovelling. ”Forgive!